


drink to me only with thine eyes

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Underage - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Sam's fourteen when he develops two obsessions: chapstick and whatever Dean happens to be drinking at the time.
Relationships: Sam/Dean, Wincest
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gothpandaotaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/gifts), [yellow_fever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_fever/gifts).



> @gothpandaotaku and @yellow_fever introduced me to the idea of indirect kisses, so this is for them.
> 
> Titles are taken from the medieval love song _To Celia_ , by English playwright Ben Jonson.

Sam develops an obsession with chapstick when he’s fourteen. Clear, pink, glossy, flavored, or just plain wax, Sam doesn’t seem to care as long as his lips are shiny and soft and plump. 

That’s also around the time he starts stealing Dean’s drinks. Not just in an _I’m a little brother, it’s my job to be annoying_ kind of way. In a serious, Dean can’t take a sip without Sam grabbing the glass and taking a drink kind of way.

And, of course, leaving behind a perfect imprint of his mouth. That’s the part that’s _really_ driving Dean crazy. Sam’s mouth, in all its various states of being: happy, sad, pouting, smiling, wrapped around Dean’s amulet…

Okay, that last one hasn’t happened, but Dean can’t stop thinking about it. And maybe a little more than think--daydream, fantasize, jerk off. He can see it so clearly, Sam’s pink little tongue licking up his chest--maybe detouring over to one of his nipples, maybe not--until the tip can curl around the warm metal and pull it close enough for those lips--full and pink and shiny--to taste and suckle. Dean groans silently, imagining the way the cord would bite into the back of his neck when Sam tugged on the amulet just a little, his eyes dark and--

Sam kicks him under the table. “Dean, I need to go to the bathroom,” he says, not quite a whine. His eyes are dark today, green and gold, and his teeth are sunk into his bottom lip as he watches Dean. Those eyes--haunting Dean nearly as much as Sam’s lips--dart down toward Dean’s glass of water and sure enough, there’s a perfect little mark on the glass, perfect match. Slightly pink, like Sam’s lips need the help, and a little waxy. Dean wonders, a little dizzily, if he could taste Sam there if he tried, and before his brain can stop his hand, he’s bringing the glass to his own mouth. 

Sam’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open slightly, just enough for Dean to see the soft pink of his tongue as Dean fits his mouth exactly where Sam’s was a moment before. Sam’s cheeks turn pink to match his lips as Dean drinks, and any disappointment Dean feels over the waxy, not-Sam taste gets washed away. 

“Dean, please?” Something about the breathless whisper, soft and a little desperate, must get through to John. 

“Take your brother to the bathroom so we can get on the road, Dean,” John orders impatiently, and both brothers startle, jarred out of the space that had seemed to hold only them. The sign outside the diner shadows John's face in black and red, drawing him into the darkness and holding it back at the same time, weary and burdened.

“I--yeah,” Dean stumbles over the words, too much going on in his head and his body. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s get you taken care of.” He tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as he stands, hoping no one can see that he’s half hard from the thought of his little brother’s mouth in all kinds of places it shouldn’t be. Sam takes his hand even though he’s old enough to know better, looking up at him from under his lashes. Half shy, half adoring and all of him driving Dean to absolute distraction. 

It’s going to be a long night.


	2. and I will pledge with mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise.

Dean's so shaken by the night's revelations that he nearly argues when John gruffly orders him into the backseat with Sam rather than his customary place in the front passenger seat. John must see his hastily stifled objections, though, because his face darkens. 

"Do as you’re told, Dean," he says curtly, one big hand wrapped tightly around the Impala's sturdy metal door frame. "Get some sleep, you're taking over when we hit Missouri." He doesn't wait for Dean's obedience, just settles himself ponderously behind the wheel and turns the key. "Don't know what's gotten into you, boy," he mutters under his breath, eyes hard and angry in the rearview mirror as Dean slides into the backseat. Sammy's already slumped against the far door, legs folded up underneath him. He's got a slim tube in his hands, pulls off the top and rubs the tip briskly over his lips, seemingly without a care in the world. When he’s done he looks up at Dean beseechingly, and Dean can’t help it. He smiles and holds out his arm so that Sam can tuck himself underneath, just like he’s always done. Sam’s his little brother, and nothing’s going to change that. 

Six hours later Dean opens his eyes as the Impala grumbles to a stop next to a tired, rundown pump. There’s a light on in the store, and John heaves himself up and out to walk stiffly toward the dim glow, the faint jangle of the bell reaching Dean from a distance. Dean watches his dad make the arrangements and knows he ought to get out and start the gas pumping. 

But Sam’s curled up against him, warm and solid, long delicate fingers wrapped loosely around his amulet and his face pressed into the curve of Dean’s shoulder and neck. His lips are just barely touching Dean’s skin, the warmth of his breath shivering over Dean’s skin. Dean's arm is wrapped around Sam's waist, his hand against the warm skin of Sam's hip, and Dean doesn't want to move. Doesn't want to break this perfect moment of peace and contentment that only Sam can bring him. _Just five more minutes,_ he decides, and pulls Sam closer as his eyes slide shut again.

But it’s not five minutes. The sun is threatening the horizon when thick fingers rap against the glass near Dean’s head, and when he looks up, startled, John is there, swaying a little as he rubs a tired hand over his face. 

“Got a room,” he grunts when Dean opens the door, careful to keep Sam from waking. “Gonna sleep. I want five miles out of each of you, on top of your regular drill. Then you come straight back here so we can get on the road.”

“Yessir,” Dean says, trying to hide the reluctance in his voice. John’s looking at them with something like affection, and Dean wills himself to wake up because that can’t be right. 

“Five miles,” John repeats, and shambles off toward their room. Dean watches to see which door he goes into, then shakes Sam awake. 

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean coaxes, rubbing Sam’s side and shaking him just a little. He feels rested, his body and his brain working together better than they have in awhile. Sam opens his eyes and yawns. 

“What, De?” he says sleepily, and Dean’s heart trips over itself because Sam hasn’t called him that in forever. “‘M tired.” 

“We’re at the motel,” Dean tells him. He still hasn’t moved, because Sam’s hand is still curled protectively around Dean’s amulet, lying on Dean’s chest right above Dean’s heart. Sam must be able to feel how Dean’s heart is racing, but he doesn’t move away, just looks up at Dean with eyes that aren’t sleepy at all. He opens his hand slowly, the eerie horned head that Dean wears everywhere resting in the palm of his hand. 

“I’m glad he’s still here to protect you,” Sam says softly, and kisses the amulet before letting it drop back down onto Dean’s chest as he moves away. 

Sam doesn’t get far, Dean catching his arm and tugging him back. 

“Dad says five miles plus the standard,” Dean says reluctantly, and shakes his head when Sam makes a disgusted face. 

“It’s not even morning, De,” he complains. “The sun’s not even up.” 

“Better to do it now before it gets hot,” Dean reasons. “You can have the first shower when we get back if you don’t complain.” 

Sam considers, then nods, eyes gleaming in the near darkness. “Promise?” he demands, holding out his pinky. 

Dean doesn’t take the offered swear. Instead, he presses the warm bronze of his amulet to his lips, where Sam’s had been just moments before. “Promise.”


	3. Or leave a kiss within the cup, and I’ll not ask for wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's little brother tastes like coconut, and that's just one of the many things Dean shouldn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically three chapters, but they're all short so I'm posting them together with dividers.

**Or leave a kiss within the cup, and I’ll not ask for wine.**

“Got a date tonight, Dean?” John asks, frowning severely at the stack of gear on the table in front of him. Dean doesn’t, isn’t sure why his dad would think he does when Dean hasn’t gone out in weeks. Hasn’t been able to think about anything but Sam since...forever, it feels like. Dean can’t even remember the last time he tried flirting, pulled so tight into Sam’s orbit that no other light even reaches him. “Been awhile since you went out. You and Sam are going to be here a few more days, might be good for you to get out of the house and have some fun.”

Panic rises in Dean’s chest, clawing at his throat. Does his dad know what’s been going on? Has he figured out the game that he and Sam have been playing, the heat that’s been building between them?

“If this hunt with Bobby goes right, we’re all going out into the woods for some training. Gonna be out there a couple of weeks,” John adds, hefting the backpack he’s loading up. He drops it back onto the bed and tosses in another box of shotgun shells. “I don’t want to hear any bitching out of you, so get it out of your system now.”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, then glances over at Sam. His baby brother is watching him from the other end of the couch, innocence and sin, wearing one of Dean’s old Metallica t-shirts. It hangs off his shoulders and mostly hides the running shorts he’s wearing, his long legs bare and tucked up underneath him. The sight of Sam in his clothes sends a possessive thrill through Dean, hot and sharp and unexpected. 

“I--uh.” Dean’s brain shuts down at the sight, leaves him speechless as he watches Sam lean over to pick up Dean’s soda and suck on the straw, lips pursed tight around the thin tube as he watches Dean watching him. He leaves the cheap plastic shiny with just a hint of pink left behind. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” Dean says, his voice and his resolve both cracking as he watches Sam’s throat work. “Really.” 

John grunts, his attention already back on the hunt he’s planning, and as he leans over to pick up the glass in front of Sam, Dean knows that banging a waitress isn’t going to do a damn thing.

**The thirst that from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine**

Dean knows his baby brother’s mouth tastes like coconut this morning. 

He'd come into the bathroom for his shower to find a glass of water on the counter, didn’t have to look to know that there was a perfect lip print on the rim left just for him or that Sam was watching to see what he’d do. 

He hadn’t hesitated, stripping his shirt off and shoving his sweats to the floor, already half hard when he raised the glass to his lips. He didn’t even taste the water, too focused on the thick, plasticky taste of coconut Sam had left behind, the way the shape of his mouth covered and ruined the shape of Sam’s, the feel of Sam’s eyes on his body. His dick throbbed as he thought about the gloss on Sam’s lips, the way it would look smeared around Sam’s mouth, the dazed expression and flushed cheeks Dean would leave in his wake if he ever took what Sam’s been offering. He licked Sam’s taste from his lips, coconut and something indefinably _Sam_ that makes Dean want to put his mouth all over his little brother until he knows what every inch of him tastes like. 

He shouldn’t know things like that about Sam--what he tastes like, that the thin skin over his hip feels like warm silk, that he moans Dean’s name softly when he thinks Dean’s asleep. He shouldn’t think things like this about Sam--about the pink of his lips and the scent of his hair when he presses up against Dean in the back seat, the feel of his lips on Dean’s throat when they wake up tangled together in their shared bed. He _should_ stop avoiding that cute waitress down at the diner and get laid. Get all of this--whatever _this_ is--out of his system.

But he can't. He'd made a promise to Sam, and as much as his head tries to tell him it was just about first showers and morning runs, his heart knows it was something more. And Sam knows it too. 

Dean leaves the shower door open when he steps under the warm water, open invitation that he half hopes, half dreads Sam will accept. Sam had showered first, as he did most mornings, and Dean can still smell the lingering scent of his shampoo in the steamy air. He breathes deep, pulling Sam into his lungs, sense memory and current memory feeding into each other as he leans against the stained tile and strokes himself with a shuddering sigh. Movement in the corner of his eye, a soft gasp and softer moan, and when Dean looks up Sam’s _there_ , framed by the open doorway, challenge accepted. Dean meets Sam’s eyes, takes in the faint cut of muscle on his chest, the way his dick is pushing out his boxers, the flush on his cheeks as he palms himself shamelessly. Dean comes like that, eyes locked on Sam’s, Sam’s name on his lips for all the world to see, even if Sam is the only one looking. 

**But might I of Jove’s nectar sip I would not trade for thine**

Her name is Carri, _with an i_. Dean wonders if she writes a little heart over the top, shakes away the thought. She's cute--curly black hair, big brown eyes, full red lips that Dean just knows would look perfect wrapped around his dick and feel even better. She’s given Dean a show every time he’s come through the office, low cut tops and pouty lips, and now that Dad’s gone she’s even stopped by the room. Dean’s pretty sure it wouldn’t take much to get her into the back seat of the Impala or one of the double beds in the room behind him. And in the past, he would have eagerly taken her up on that offer, maybe brought her back that night while Sam pretended to sleep, put on a show for him. 

Thinking about it, maybe this thing with Sam has been going on longer than he realized. 

But now, he looks at her beautiful eyes and perfect tits and tiny little waist that would fit between his hands and thinks about Sam. 

Sam, who he’d promised he’d spend the afternoon with, Sam whose fifteenth birthday is tomorrow. Sam, who’s been patiently waiting for him to pull himself together and see what’s right in front of him. 

“Sorry, Carri,” Dean says, smiling at her with regret that’s hardly feigned. “I promised my little brother we’d spend today and tomorrow together.” Sam’s sitting at the tiny table in the corner pretending to do his homework, and Dean sees his head come up, his tentative smile growing as Dean politely blows Carri off. 

“But--I thought…” She sounds genuinely disappointed. Her eyes flick over to Sam, then back again, thoughtful, and her smile slowly turns to a knowing smirk. 

“Maybe another time,” Dean says, turning on the charm. She’s pretty hot, after all. “But tomorrow I’m all Sammy’s.”

“Well,” she says sweetly, “if you and your...ah… _brother_...change your minds or get bored, you know where to find me.” She winks at Sam, who blushes. “Happy birthday, Sammy. I hope it’s a _good_ one.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence after she closes the door, neither brother moving. Then Sam’s on his feet, throwing himself across the room and into Dean’s arms. 

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice muffled against Dean’s shoulder. “Just us?” 

“Just us,” Dean confirms, and Sam shivers as Dean pulls back enough to tilt Sam’s face up to his. “Promise.” 

The kiss is sweet and gentle, Dean’s mouth soft against Sam’s, Dean’s hand in Sam’s hair as Sam’s mouth opens for him. Sam’s lips are dry, no trace of anything between them, and Dean laughs softly when they finally break apart. 

“What?” Sam asks, embarrassed. “Did I--”

Dean kisses him again, quick and light. “You taste like you,” he says, smiling. “Not coconut or cherry or any of those other flavors you’ve been using to drive me crazy.” 

It’s Sam’s turn to laugh, his dimples popping out and driving Dean to distraction. “Today was gonna be the day,” he admits, a little shy. “I was trying to get my nerve up, but I wanted--I wanted it to be _me_ the first time, just me. And just you.” 

“Well, you’ve got me,” Dean says, smiling. “Forever.”


End file.
